


Fleur De Paris

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Dom/sub, Gangbang, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the Les Mis kink meme. Montparnasse/les amis. Gangbang. Every party is fully consenting, but you might consider it dubcon given that the fucking is in exchange for something.  And then Enjolras/Grantaire D/s intercrural sex. Don’t ask me: it just happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fleur De Paris

"Well, if it isn’t the dandy fleur de Paris." Montparnasse stiffened as he removed his hat, setting it down on the chair. Courfeyrac had been the one to speak. Montparnasse vaguely recognized everyone of them for being pointed out by Éponine or Thénardier at one time or another, barring one fellow who was dark-haired and settled at a table, and another who was smiling brightly as he fiddled with an unlit candle.

"You’re one of the Patron-Minette." Enjolras stood. He was prettier than Montparnasse had once realized, when Gavroche had pointed him out, and Montparnasse stepped forwards.

"I am indeed." Montparnasse agreed.

"We don’t consort with criminals." Enjolras said sharply. "What are you doing here?"

"Actually, I ‘ad something I thought you boys might be interested in. Some carbines. But you know, if you’re not…"

”Wait.” Enjolras held up his hands for him to stop, and then he looked to the other amis.

"We need weapons." Combeferre said quietly. "More is best."

"And carbines are sturdy." Feuilly added.

"What’s the price?" The dark-haired man spoke, and Montparnasse looked at him.

"Grantaire asks a fair question." Grantaire. That was  _him_? Montparnasse’s lips twitched. 

"100 Louis should do it, I think." The amis looked between each other.

"How many carbines?"

"Twelve. Counted ‘em myself."

"It’s cheaper than we’re going to get them anywhere else." Feuilly murmured, and Enjolras nodded his agreement.

"And do  _you_  have 100 Louis to spare, oh fearless leader?” Grantaire spoke, his tone mocking. “I know I don’t.”

Enjolras looked around the room. There was discussion, about what they  _could_ pay, rapidly moving from one man to the next. Enjolras felt perhaps Montparnasse shouldn’t be in the room for this, but it was too late to send him out. The dandy remained in the middle of the room, buffing his nails on his coat and playing with the brim of his hat.

"80 Louis. We can do 80."

"Not enough, sir." Montparnasse said easily. 

"85." Grantaire said, and Montparnasse shook his head again. The man was smirking, pretty pink lips quirked into the expression. Courfeyrac stood, moving to close the door of the backroom, and he turned the key in the lock. Montparnasse bristled, grabbing a knife from his pocket and straightening his shoulders as he stepped back from the other man, regarding him with suspicion. 

"Now see here, I won’t-"

"Not gonna hurt you." Courfeyrac said, meeting Montparnasse’s eyes. "Just… I’ve heard rumours." Courfeyrac heard more rumours than Enjolras and Combeferre did - around Courfeyrac’s easy demeanour, even the quietest man’s tongue became loose. 

"Is that so? What, and your rumours’re gonna get you 15 Louis, eh?" Montparnasse kept his grip on the knife.

"No. Can’t get the fifteen Louis. But we could get you something else." Montparnasse stared at him, and moreover, so did the other amis. "Apparently you haven’t got much luck with the ladies. Apparently, you don’t even  _like_  most of them.”

Montparnasse stiffened further. “Oi, now-“

"Calm yourself." Courfeyrac growled, and Montparnasse closed his mouth. "You’re in a room of like-minded men, one way or another." Montparnasse shot a desperate look around the other amis, who seemed to be at varying stages of realization.

"You could find payment in… That fashion." 

"We are not-" Enjolras stood, speaking sharply, and Grantaire laughed at him, cutting him off.

"We’ve found something our fearless leader isn’t willing to do for his mistress Patria, my friends." 

"Grantaire, this is  _not_  the time-“

Grantaire stood, setting a bottle down, and he shouldered Enjolras out of his way as he stepped forwards to face Montparnasse more levelly. “I bet it’s difficult to find a man, with your  _profession_.” Grantaire didn’t spit the word as Enjolras would have, merely placing an amused sort of emphasis on it. 

He reached out and grasped the knife in Montparnasse’s hand, taking it and setting it on the table. “How many men does it take to satisfy 15 Louis?” Grantaire asked, and Montparnasse swayed a little, his lips parted. Grantaire  _grinned_  at him, the expression predatory in a way only some of the amis were familiar with, and Montparnasse’s tongue darted from his mouth to wet his lips. 

"I-" Grantaire gave Montparnasse no time to answer. He grabbed him by the cravat and pulled him down to his own height, pressing his chapped lips to Montparnasse’s pink, pretty ones, and the thief gave a soft whimper against his mouth, leaning into it. Grantaire took his hat in one hand, setting it aside on the table with the knife as he tangled the other in Montparnasse’s hair.

His hair was long, though a little shorter than Enjolras’, and tied in a purple ribbon Grantaire was fairly certain was silk. Grantaire deepened the kiss.

When he pulled back, Montparnasse’s lips were plumper, his cheeks tinged a soft pink, and his breathing had sped. “Well, would you look at that. Fleur de Paris indeed. You don’t look so easy to satisfy…” Grantaire reached up, cupping Montparnasse’s face and stroking over his cheek with his thumb. “Five? Six?”

"God." Montparnasse whispered, and his lips moved, and the "six" tumbled from his mouth.

"That’s a boy." Grantaire patted his cheek, and then turned. "Come on then, I make one." 

Jean Prouvaire stood, and he stepped forwards, standing beside Grantaire. He said nothing. Bossuet shrugged before he stood, and Courfeyrac was already standing. Feuilly drummed his fingers on the table, but then he pushed himself to his feet, and Combeferre sighed before he removed his spectacles and stood himself.

"There you go,  _Apollo_.” Enjolras bristled at the nickname, looking ready to shove Grantaire, but the brunet had put too much space between them. “No need to get your hands dirty. Bahorel’s got his mistress, Joly’s got his troubled immune system, and you’ve got… Well. He’s got his  _dignity_.”

Enjolras spat at him.. Joly and Bahorel stood, and at a murmur from Courfeyrac moved out of the room to keep an eye on the door. Enjolras didn’t move. 

"Are you  _staying_?”

"Maybe I’ll learn something." Enjolras retorted, and this time he did shove Grantaire. 

"Clothes, Montparnasse." Grantaire prompted, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac set about clearing a table of bottles and glasses to bend him over. Montparnasse swallowed hard, and then he shrugged off his coat. He wore a waistcoat over a woman’s blouse, and they all watched him strip off each layer before moving to his trousers. "Boots first." Grantaire murmured gently, and Montparnasse was suddenly struck with the realization that Grantaire had done this before, that Montparnasse wasn’t the first person he’d convinced to shuck off his clothes before a half dozen others.

Montparnasse set his boots aside before wriggling out his trousers, and for a moment his hand lingered on the clip of his stockings, but Grantaire shook his head. “No, the floor is cold. Keep them on.”

Enjolras watched with a stony expression as Grantaire moved behind Montparnasse, pressed a kiss to his shoulder as he set about fisting over his cock. Grantaire had never taken control of anything at the Musain in the entire time Enjolras had known him.

"Courfeyrac, there’s oil in my satchel. Get it." He’d never heard Grantaire give an order before, either. Grantaire removed his own waistcoat, leaving him in just his shirt as he put the black cloth over the table. "Bend over, Montparnasse." 

"Not without preparation, I need-"

"You’ll get a lot." Grantaire promised, and Montparnasse bent over, and this was shameful, emasculating in the word of ways, Enjolras  _knew_  that, and yet Montparnasse’s spine was a graceful line, his thighs were quivering in anticipation, and regularly he licked his lips. 

Enjolras did not understand. 

Courfeyrac handed Grantaire the oil, and all of them watched as Grantaire slicked his fingers with it before pressing it forwards. Enjolras took the oil on hand to mean Grantaire did this often, and he stared,  _stared,_ as Montparnasse clenched with a soft whimper around Grantaire’s fingers.

Montparnasse’s entrance was pink, but it wasn’t like a woman’s - Enjolras mayn’t have had a woman before, but he knew what they looked like, and it wasn’t like this. Grantaire pressed a kiss to Montparnasse’s lower back as he added a third finger, and after a minute or so of Grantaire thrusting his fingers, scissoring them, Montparnasse let out a loud cry. Enjolras stood sharply, thinking it to be pain, but the second sound was obviously a pleasured one, especially as Montparnasse rocked his hips back for more. 

Enjolras was taken aback by how tender Grantaire was about it, but more so, how much Montparnasse seemed to be enjoying it. Could  _this_  be worth fifteen Louis? But how?

Montparnasse gave a choked sound as Grantaire added a fourth finger, but Grantaire hushed him. “You need it for this.” Grantaire stood back, and he handed the oil back to Courfeyrac. “Slick your cock with it - make sure it’s as wet as a woman, else you’ll hurt him.”

Courfeyrac did. All of them had undone their trousers in the meantime, and Enjolras hadn’t noticed, God, how could he not have noticed? He slicked his cock before handing the bottle to Feuilly, and then he moved forwards, lining himself up and then slowly, carefully, fucking forwards.

Montparnasse’s moan was low and guttural, and he splayed his hands out on the table, arched his back. “Combeferre, his mouth.” Grantaire said, and Combeferre went, moved without question, and here Grantaire was straight-backed, with none of the regular slouching to his posture, his voice was strong, sharp, commanding.

Enjolras stared at him, but Grantaire didn’t notice him, barely paid attention to him. He almost  _prowled_  from side to side as he watched Montparnasse, watched him eagerly suck at the doctor’s cock, as Combeferre grasped at the back of his head. 

"That’s it." Combeferre murmured. "That’s it, that’s it."

Courfeyrac remained quiet, which was surprising to Enjolras, but he bit and nipped and kissed across Montparnasse’s back, leaving little marks all around the skin there. Courfeyrac moaned against Montparnasse’s shoulder, against the back of his neck, when he came, and then he pulled back and Feuilly took his place.

This was dirty. It was dirty and it was  _wrong_  and Enjolras couldn’t understand -  _15 louis for this, and the economy was hard, money wasn’t easy to come by -_ but Montparnasse seemed blissful even as Combeferre fucked forwards and  _came_ , came down Montparnasse’s  _throat_ , and Enjolras realized his cock was hard in his pants.

Enjolras hadn’t been hard like this since he’d been a  _boy_.

Feuilly fucked harder and faster than Courfeyrac had, digging his nails into Montparnasse’s hips and making him let out desperate cries. Grantaire put a hand on Bossuet’s chest, stopping him from moving forwards. “Wait.” Grantaire murmured quietly, and Bossuet obeyed.

Montparnasse didn’t scream, but Enjolras felt like Grantaire had a plan in mind if he did, and when Feuilly came, Grantaire made Montparnasse straighten up for a few moments. Jehan replaced him, fucking forwards and moving his hips nimbly, scratching lines down Montparnasse’s back and marking him in a subtler way than Courfeyrac had.

The thief’s come had leaked onto Grantaire’s waistcoat, but Grantaire ignored the white stained on his vest in order to check Montparnasse’s lips, stroke gently over his back. “You ready for more?”

"More." Montparnasse whispered, and Grantaire bent him over again. "Bossuet, fuck his mouth. Don’t come." Bossuet inclined his head, and he was gentler than the other two had been, letting Montparnasse suckle at his cock, lick and twirl his tongue over the head of it.

Grantaire fucked forwards, and he wasn’t rough, but nor was he gentle. Enjolras stared at him, at his stiff posture, at the way his clever hands drummed over Montparnasse’s back and made him let out choked whimpers around Bossuet’s cock. Grantaire came quickly, and then he pulled back. “Bossuet, fuck his ass one last time.”

Bossuet moved to do so and Grantaire took the place Bossuet had been in, leaning to murmur to him. Enjolras couldn’t hear what Grantaire was saying to him, but Montparnasse seemed more affected than he had been throughout the whole endeavour, and Montparnasse convulsed suddenly, and Enjolras realized he’d come.

He hadn’t come from being fucked, but as soon as Grantaire had started murmuring in his ear, he  _did._

Bossuet came and he pulled back. “Do your trousers up.” Grantaire said, but he didn’t look away from Montparnasse. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped over his stomach, clearing away the evidence there. “Feuilly, a drink.” Grantaire requested, and he took the glass when the workingman handed it to him, held it to Montparnasse’s lips. It was brandy, and he drank greedily, thirstily, and Grantaire nodded.

"We want the carbines here tomorrow. Four o’clock. You’ll get the rest of your payment then." Grantaire said, and he picked Montparnasse’s blouse from the table, sliding it onto his arms and up over his shoulders, buttoning it for him. He was tender, careful, and when Enjolras glanced to the other amis, he realized they were looking at Grantaire in a similar new light to what he was. 

"Yeah." Montparnasse whispered, and Grantaire pressed a kiss to his lips, a last one, and Montparnasse gave a choked little whimper. "Trousers. Boots." Montparnasse moved to pull them on. He was clothed again in less than three minutes, and he looked to Grantaire, as if asking him permission to go.

"See you tomorrow, fleur de Paris." Grantaire purred, and Montparnasse nodded, tipped his hat, stumbled backwards and towards the door Courfeyrac opened for him. Bahorel and Joly moved back inside, and Grantaire ignored everyone’s gaze to drop into his seat and take long draws from his wine bottle as if nothing had happened.

"What the fuck was that?" Coufeyrac asked, kicking the door closed behind him. "I’ve fucked men before, Grantaire, but not like this, not like- that was  _incredible_.”

Grantaire took a drink from the bottle. “Are you alright?” Combeferre asked him, and Grantaire nodded, putting his hand atop Combeferre’s when it landed on his shoulder. Enjolras palmed himself in his trousers, as if his erection would go away, and God, he  _hoped_  it would go away. 

"Did you learn anything?" Grantaire asked, lidded eyes moving to meet Enjolras’.

"You enjoyed degrading him." Enjolras murmured, and Grantaire closed his eyes. The others slowly moved back to their seats, taking back their drinks. 

"It’s not that." Grantaire said, clutching at his forehead. "It’s not that." He repeated.

"Then what is it?" Courfeyrac asked, and Enjolras saw admiration in the boy’s eyes. No disgust, no worry, but  _admiration_. 

"Pretty girls, pretty boys, some of them like to be controlled."

"You would take a  _slave-“  
_

 _“_ It’s not like that!” Grantaire growled the words at Enjolras, and the chief was staggered by it. “It’s consensual. It’s easier for them, more enjoyable.”

"You’ve had Montparnasse before?" Combeferre murmured.

"No, I haven’t." Grantaire said tiredly. "If you don’t mind- I-" For once, Grantaire was speechless, unable to speak further. "I should go home." He stood, and he picked up the waistcoast from the table, folding it. Joly moved forwards, catching his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

"I’m fine, Joly." Grantaire murmured. "Just tired." Joly and Bahorel looked to the other amis, who could offer no explanation. 

"I’ll escort you home."

"Escort me?" Grantaire repeated bitterly, but Enjolras stepped forwards anyway, putting his hand gently on Grantaire’s lower back. 

"I wish to talk to you."

Grantaire and Enjolras walked together. Grantaire’s home was close, and he allowed Enjolras inside, lighting candles as he moved into the room. “You’ve done that before?”

"Dominated." Grantaire said softly. "That’s the word for it: dominated. It’s not cruel, or evil, or- It’s agreed upon. Montparnasse knew the drill, I’d- I’d heard about him before." 

"What did you say to him?"

"What?"

"You made him come. When Bossuet was fucking him, what did you say to him?" Grantaire sighed, softly, dropping his dirtied waistcoat in a tub. 

"I said fuck you, Enjolras, I want to go to bed." 

"Grantaire, please." Enjolras had never pleaded with Grantaire before.

"I told him he was pretty, that he was taking it well, and that he could come, that he should come, that it would please me to see him come."

"He  _orgasmed_ from that?”

"It works, what can I say?" Grantaire asked, shrugging. "Hell,  _you_  were hard.”

"I wasn’t-"

"Oh, hush, I saw you palming yourself." Enjolras’ cheeks went pink, and he looked at the ground. 

"Show me." Enjolras said, and Grantaire put his head in his hands, letting out a soft groan.

“ _What?”_

 _“_ Show me. How you do it.”

"Dominate you?"

"Dominate me." Grantaire stood, and the posture came back, the straight back, the commanding air returned, and Enjolras’ heart was beating hard and fast in his chest. 

"Get on your knees."

"What?"

"You heard me, Enjolras,  _on your knees_.” Enjolras dropped to the floor, in the centre of Grantaire’s kitchen, and it was dark, dimly lit, and Grantaire leaned down, grasped at Enjolras’ chin, and pulled it up a little, forced Enjolras to look up at him.

Enjolras took in a ragged breath, but he didn’t move, he  _couldn’t_  move, because Holy God above - why? Why couldn’t he move?

Grantaire hadn’t told him to. Oh, God, that was why, that was why he couldn’t that was- that was-

"Please." Enjolras whispered,  _whimpered_ , and Grantaire stared at him.

"You’re a virgin, we can’t-  _I_  can’t-“

"Please." Enjolras repeated, and he felt the word as if it were heavy on his tongue. "Please. Take- take care of me."

"Take care of you?" Grantaire repeated, and he looked pained,  _tortured_ , as he met Enjolras’ eyes. 

"I want to know what it feels like."

"I’m not going to fuck you, Enjolras, not like Montparnasse."

"Grantaire-" 

"Stand." Enjolras did, and at Grantaire’s next order, he followed into the living room, and as Grantaire lit candles, he bent over the table there. "I’m not going to fuck you." Grantaire repeated. "But I can do something different. Something similar."

Grantaire leaned, undoing Enjolras’ belt and pulling his trousers down, leaving him with his ass bared to the cold room. Grantaire opened the bottle, and then he was rubbing the cool liquid against Enjolras’ thighs. “Press your legs together.” Enjolras did, and then he felt Grantaire press against his thighs with - God, God, that was his  _cock_.

Enjolras let out a choked sound as Grantaire fucked forwards, fucked again and again between his thighs, where it was wet and  _hot_  and tight, and when he changed his angle slightly every thrust rubbed tantalizingly against Enjolras’ own cock, against his balls.

Enjolras was hard again, whimpering, his cheeks flushed, his hands trembling, and he was a mess, a mess, but he needed - by God, Enjolras  _needed_. 

Grantaire reached under Enjolras, and his hand was slick with oil still as he fisted over his cock. “Grantaire, Grantaire, please-” He whined the name out, and Grantaire’s name was  _everything_ , Grantaire was everything, and then he felt a press of lips against his shoulder and for a second Enjolras had a detached thought that he might start sobbing underneath the other man.

"Come, orgasm for me, Enjolras, come, come for  _me_.” Enjolras did, grasped at the wood of the table, and then Grantaire let out a choked little sound against his back, and he pulled back.

Enjolras dropped to his knees on the ground again, breathing heavily. Grantaire dropped next to him, also on his knees, and he wiped his hands on his trousers before reaching out, cradling Enjolras’ face. “Are you alright?”

"That- that was, I mean-" Grantaire nodded, offering a slight smile.

"Yeah, it’s a journey, isn’t it? Come, come up, come." He lifted Enjolras up, dragged him into the bedroom. "Take off your clothes, Enjolras, take them off. Don’t worry about the cold, just get into bed." Grantaire left the room, blowing candles out before coming back, climbing into bed with him. 

He pressed his body to Enjolras’, wrapped the sheets around them and huddled, and Grantaire pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Don’t let this be a one-time thing. Please, Enjolras, don’t-” Grantaire was desperate, and he pleaded, but Enjolras shook his head.

"I don’t want it to be either." Grantaire relaxed entirely, went limp with his limbs wrapped around Enjolras’. 

"Are you warm enough?" Grantaire asked, and Enjolras nodded, pressing back against him. "Enjolras."

"Hmm?"

"We got the carbines." Grantaire whispered, and Enjolras laughed in a quiet, breathy fashion.

"Yes. We did."


End file.
